


Spanish Seduction

by nverland



Category: Actor RPF, The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 15:14:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12986760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nverland/pseuds/nverland
Summary: Viggo has a visitor while filming Alatriste, a little role-playing ensuesFirst posted to LiveJournal 5/2006





	Spanish Seduction

Spanish Seduction  
Authors: Carol and Alex  
Rating: NC17  
Pairing: Viggo/OFC  
Disclaimer: I don't know, nor own anyone depicted in this story. This is fiction, meant to harm no one, for entertainment only. It is a creation of my own curved little mind  
Warnings: Sex, like that's a bad thing. -HET  
Beta: The wonderful ~N, who gently prods me and gives me the best inspiration.  
Summary: Viggo has a visitor while filming Alatriste, a little role-playing ensues  
First posted to LiveJournal 5/2006

 

She arrives on the set of Viggo’s current film late in the day. She’s planned it that way, wanting a chance to carry through with the surprise of being there, and the plans she made over the phone with the head of the wardrobe department. It has been months since they’ve seen each other. Phone calls are nice, but they can’t replace the feeling of actually being in his arms.

She glances around nervously, running a hand over the full, red lace dress that covers her body. She lucked out when wardrobe had something in her size. She walks slowly between the clay and stone buildings, seeming to jump a bit with every little sound; the set is really creepy this time of night. Her heels kick up little clouds of dirt as she moves, her eyes scanning the gloomy night for any sign of her lover, knowing he’s currently lost in this new world he’s submerged himself in.

She makes out a shape some distance ahead of her. By the way he walks, she can tell that she's finally found him. Even in the dark, and in full costume, there is no mistaking him. He's immersed himself so fully into this character that he's living in the leather breeches and coat his character wears. His hair is almost always covered with a scarf, and he wears that large, rakish hat when outside.

“Alatriste,” she murmurs with a smile, a shiver going through her. He hesitates for a moment, almost as if he heard her soft voice, but then he keeps wandering. She only follows for a bit, until suddenly she turns a corner, a corner she knew she saw him go around, and swears softly when she finds the street ahead of her empty. “Now where the devil did you get to?”

Watching her from a dark shadow, he waits until she turns away from him. Until then he was unsure if she had seen him. Stepping silently behind her, he grabs her with one hand around her waist, the other hand clamping over her mouth to smother any sounds she might make. "What have we here?" he breathes in Spanish, his voice deep and rich.

She squeaks underneath his hand, the sound quite undignified, her heart pounding until she hears those quiet tones. Her lover has taught her enough of the language that she understands what he says, and now she only closes her eyes, inwardly trying to decide what character she wants to play-willing wanton or scared virgin.

He buries his face in her hair, inhaling the soft sweet scent she's wearing. "Do I frighten you, little one? One so young and innocent should not be wandering these streets at night. One never knows what kind of person they will run into,” he murmurs, never breaking from his character.

She shivers again, fighting herself behind wide eyes. She wants him now, but he obviously wishes to play a bit, and she knows better than to force him to break character. He’ll do it when he’s good and ready, and not a moment sooner. "Please, señor…” She whispers. “I am not looking for trouble…I am a good girl…”

Her body speaks louder to him than her words. He can feel the tension in her, the shivers of early desire starting. They stir him, awaken him. "Ah, little one, if you were not looking for trouble, then why were you following me?"

“I was not following you. Am I not allowed to walk the same street as you?” The words are meant to be flippant and strong, but they only come out as a weak protest, her form very much aware of the warm, strong arm still around her waist, as well as the hand that rests lightly on her neck.

His calloused fingers stroke gently across her soft throat, brush over her collarbone. He can feel her shivering under his touch, the feeling exciting him, making him want her more. "It is not often that one finds a beautiful woman on the streets at night. I have been watching you for many blocks now. Our paths seem to be going in the same direction," he says softly. Releasing his hold on her waist, he turns her to face him.

For a moment she is lost in his eyes, and she closes her own in order to keep herself composed. Her body presses close to him though, as if it has a mind of its own, the smell of worked-over leather and sweet dust filling her senses. “Maybe our paths were meant to go in the same direction.”

'So, she wants to play,' he thinks. Wrapping an arm around her, he pulls her against his chest. He can feel her heart beating rapidly against him.

“Alatriste…” she murmurs, her fingers enfolding his shirt between them. “Will you be gentle or rough?”

Tipping her face up, he steals her mouth in a searing kiss, leaving them both breathless. "Is this what you want? To be taken, possessed?"

“Only by you,” she breathes, shivering violently, gasping as he pulls on the clip that had kept her hair off her neck, the locks spilling over his hands.

He drops the clip, running his fingers through her silken strands. "Come, we cannot stay here. My home is nearby." He grasps her arm, leading her the short distance to a small house facing the water. Opening the door, he draws her inside, kicking the door closed and pulling her against him.

She barely has time to admire the world she’s been pulled into before his mouth covers her again, and she moans, his thick mustache tickling her upper lip. She wraps her arms around him hesitantly, as if she’s not sure how much control he wants, her head moving back a bit as he grips her hair gently in his fist.

He likes her like this, so seemingly innocent as she allows her head to be moved back, exposing her throat. He lowers his mouth to the slender column, brushing his lips against the soft skin, tickling her with his lips, his tongue, making her moan and push herself against him.

“Please,” she whimpers, the word coming from her mouth before she can stop it, her head being forced back just a bit further, making her back arch a bit to accommodate the action.

The need in her voice makes him throb, his erection pressing into the lacings in his trousers. He slides a hand up from her waist to cup her breast, squeezing firmly. As she moans, he lowers his mouth to suckle at her, feeling the bud tighten through her blouse.

Her chest is pushed up further, trying to entice him, his wet mouth around her nipple just feeling so good. She’s missed this, missed him, and although her character cannot say it, her eyes do, the orbs dark with pent-up lust.

Not sure how long he can stay in character, he grips her blouse, ripping it open to get at the flesh inside, the need to taste her almost more than he can stand. As her breasts appear before him, he gazes at her with unbridled passion. Bending, he takes a nipple between his teeth, biting down firmly, then sucking the abused nub into his mouth and lavishing it with his tongue, soothing the sting.

She gasps when he first rips her blouse, the thought that costume is going to kill her getting lost in the white-hot pain that his teeth cause, her back arching into the abuse, knowing he’ll make it better when he wishes. And when he does, she moans out loud, her own hands scrambling at his tunic, fumbling fingers untying cords and pushing buttons through their holes.

As her fingers slide across his chest, she brushes against a peaked nipple, causing him to moan against her. He knows he can't wait much more, his desire throbbing, pulsing. He wants her, needs her. "How far are you willing to let me take you, little one? Will you let me claim you willingly, or will I be forced to take you and make you mine?" he asks, raising his head to gaze into her lust filled eyes.

She whimpers almost nervously, her fingers slowly running through his chest hair, inwardly knowing how it affects him. “I want you to take everything, to claim me however you desire, Alatriste. If that means you must force me to do your bidding, then I will not complain.”

Mentally groaning at the thought of taking her, doing as he pleases, it is almost enough to push him over the edge without any more stimulation. Gripping her hair with one hand, and her breast with the other, he lowers his mouth to her throat, biting and suckling, marking her, branding her.

She shivers and cries out softly, the sound more animal-like than human, her pulse thumping just beneath his lips. Her body arches into his, his mustache scratching her delicate skin. "Please, Alatriste…please…"

Pressing his fingers into her tender flesh, his mouth slides down her throat, biting at the collarbones, and he grasps her breast with his teeth again, his erection pressing against her through the lacing of his trousers. Releasing the tender nub, he laps at the abused flesh. Standing again, he seals his mouth over hers, stealing her breath with his power and passion.

She can only whimper under the onslaught of such feelings, struggling through the haze that fills her mind as her fingers finally reach downward and slowly fumble with the laces, feeling how hard he is beneath her touch. Her body aches with the need for him to claim her, her eyes looking desperately into his.

Staring into her rich brown eyes, he’s overcome with the need to fully possess her. Dragging her roughly to the bed, he strips the remainder of her clothing from her lithe form. Pulling his own clothing off, he climbs onto the bed, pushing her back firmly into the pillows.

She barely makes a sound, her eyes dilated and her chest heaving with each breath she takes as she willingly spreads her legs for him, reaching up to touch his chest again, caress his body, before wrapping her fingers gently around the hardness between his legs.

He struggles to not thrust into her warm, soft hand. He loves making love with her, but this time is different, this time he has a burning need to claim her, forcefully. Take her and leave no question to as to whom she belongs.

"Do it," she whispers, her voice cracking with desire, reading his thoughts and nearly burning up beneath his gaze. A hand pulls gently at his erection, the other parting her own lower lips for him so he can see her need easily.

Grasping her hands, pinning them over her head, he settles his cock against her wet opening. Staring into her hooded eyes, he claims her mouth as he claims her body, thrusting forcefully into her, making her arch and whimper at the sudden and violent invasion.

The pain and pleasure sizzles up her spine, her eyes squeezing closed and her fingers grabbing onto his tightly, holding on for all she's worth as two different names fight to break free from her lips, thankful his mouth plunders her own and saves her from making the choice.

Breaking free from her mouth, he pants for breath, watching her face, as he pounds into her. All there is now is his need to make her feel, and the growing need in himself for completion.

She forces her eyes open, wanting to see him, wanting to see everything he does to her body, needing to see the pleasure reflecting on the face she cherishes so. Her body trembles under his harsh thrusts and yet she only urges him on with her own hips as soft cries and pants escape her lips.

He releases her hands, only to grip her thighs and pull them around his waist, holding her up to increase the angle of his thrusts. Pounding into her mercilessly now, he knows he’s almost done, the pull in his groin ready to burst.

Finally, the mix of pleasure and pain, heat and lust, becomes too much for her, and she screams out, her form arching against his and her hands gripping the ornate bedposts hard as a powerful release takes her vulnerable body, spasms racking her form in intense waves that make her legs clench tightly around his waist.

Feeling her clamp around him, the gushing warmth of her release dribbling down his burning flesh, the sounds she is making, all are more than enough to take him over the edge with her. He slams into her once more, then throwing his head back, he coats her insides with bursts of thick fluid, a guttural moan escaping his lips.

She practically deflates beneath his strong body, her sienna tresses plastered to her forehead as sweat drips down her body. Her arms slowly come down, stiff fingers releasing the wood they had grasped so tightly it hurt, and she wraps them around his slick back, mere putty in his hands.

He sags, collapsing against her, all the energy gone from his being. He’s once again Viggo, no longer feeling the burning urges of the Spaniard that had only moments before coursed through his soul. He kisses her softly, rolling to the side and gathering her into his arms.

“Are you all right, my love? Did I hurt you?” he asks with concern.

She shakes her head, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, her own bruised and swollen from such harsh treatment.

"No, baby, you didn't, not in any way that matters. I've missed you so damn much."  
“Mmmmm,” he rumbles. “Missed you too. I’ve been so wrapped up in this part, I’d almost forgotten who I was. Needed you to bring me back.”

She smiles softly and kisses him again, not able to get enough now that she's back in his arms. "Anytime, my love. Anytime. I love the real Viggo way too much to let him get lost in someone else, even if that someone happens to be a hot-blooded Spaniard."

“So I take it then, my love,” he murmurs while kissing her hair, “that the Capitán holds no interest for you.”

"Oh, he holds an interest, all right. I wouldn't mind if he came out to play every now and then," she teases lightly, tweaking his mustache gently. "Just not every day. I don't think my poor, battered body could take it."

“Ah, well. We’ll have to see that he plays more gently next time, then.”

Yawning, he pulls her firmly against his chest. “Baby, I’m so glad you’re here, but I’m beat. What say we get some sleep? I have tomorrow off, we can sleep in, then do whatever your heart desires.”

"That sounds perfect," she whispers, cuddling in close. "Goodnight, love."

She snuggles in, and they drift off. Viggo isn’t sure what else she has in mind for the time she’s there, but he plans on enjoying every second of it.

~end


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